


Friendly Advice

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-20
Updated: 2004-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley's started shaving. It pissed me off. So I sent a certain ex-lawyer from his past to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Advice

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

His alarm goes off at 4:45. He gets up with it like he does every morning. He likes being the first senior Wolfram & Hart official to clock in. The extra hours give him time to catch up on the prophecies and ancient scrolls he all too often abandons during the course of the day. And despite the fact that he crawled into bed only mere hours ago, he still manages to rise with the shrill beep of the clock. 

The lights of night LA life stream though his windows, creating tiny patterns on his carpet. He stretches, puts on his bathrobe. In the bathroom he yawns sleepily into the mirror, turning on the cold water and splashing his face. Quickly he brushes his teeth.

Then, applying a thick, even layer of shaving cream, he grabs his razor. He tilts his face back, watching himself carefully in the mirror.

"I would think before doing that."

He spins around, annoyed at being caught off guard. And freezes, catching eye of a nightmare long gone past.

Lilah.

"You know, if I was a man and had facial hair."

He turns back around, concentrating on what he’s about to do. "Get out."

"What? No kiss hello? No even an inquiry after my health? That’s low, Wes. Even for you."

"I don’t have time for you."

She frowns as the razor comes dangerously close to his face. "Don’t do this, Wes."

He’s dumbfounded for a moment. "Don’t… shave?"

She takes a step closer to him. "I’m sorry, I can’t let you go through with it. Hand me the razor. Nice and slow. No one needs to get hurt."

"I wasn’t aware that shaving was against Wolfram & Hart policy," he replies dryly.

"Oh, it’s not. Hell, even encouraged in most cases. But you’re not most cases, Wes. You know that."

His eyes narrow, his gaze becoming more dangerous and threatening. "What are you playing at here, Lilah?"

She moves closer to him, having learned that his threats are idle. She grasps the razor in his hand, gently prying it from his grip. He lets her, watching suspiciously. She tosses the razor into the garbage can.

"Okay. That’s all I need. Have a great life."

He grabs her arm, yanking her around. "You’re not going anywhere until I get answers."

She smiles coyly, clearly pleased with herself. "Well, then, as soon as you rinse the shaving cream off your face, we can go somewhere more comfortable." She looks down at his hand gripping her arm before meeting his eyes. "Talk, perhaps."

He releases her and she rubs her arm, letting him know he hurt her. Unashamed, Wesley turns to rinse his face.

He finds her settled in the bedroom, parked in front of a mirror. He isn’t surprised to find she still has a reflection. She teases delicately at her hair and applies a fresh coat of lipstick. Tilting her head back to study her reflection, she catches him staring out of the corner of her eye. "It’s so hard to find a decent mirror in hell. You have to share with all kinds of ugly spirits, and some get a little grumpy," she says by way of explanation.

Wesley tries really hard not to let the words "hell" and "ugly spirits" effect him. "Lilah, what are you doing here?" 

She cocks her head, eyes examining his face. "Watching out for you. Trying to prevent you from royally screwing up. Like any caring, evil ex-girlfriend."

Ironically, the only thing he can to say is, "Why should you care?"

"I don’t know, why should I?"

Blast her, and her quick intelligence. She’s back for all of five minutes and already playing mind games. Quickly, he switches tactics. "I thought that… when you disappeared after the Wolfram & Hart move, you’d finally moved on. Found peace," he says gruffly.

"Oh, Wes," she answers in a patronising voice. "I can never move on. I only left you. The Senior Partners worried you really *would* find a way to severe my contract. Unwilling to let one of Wolfram & Hart’s most prized commodities go, they merely reassigned me to a new office. In Dallas. Nice place, by the way. Great weather." She smiles wryly, "Anyway, they hoped you’d be less inclined to sleep with Eve."

"Of course," he replies slowly. "The Senior Partners would never allow you to remain here. Too risky for them. The only moving you did was to another state." He rubs his forehead wearily. "I should have known."

"Oh, some part of you did. But it was easier to move on and deal if you thought I was getting on in the afterlife. Worrying about me would only have complicated things. Further."

He doesn’t deny or oppose her words. "Then why are you here?"

She shrugs. "I took a vested interest. I heard you’ve started shaving again. My Wesley doesn’t shave. A little bit of stubble makes him more dangerous, a little bit more intimidating."

"What the bloody hell does it matter to you?"

She gets up, stretches languidly. "I didn’t sleep with you for almost six months just because of your wining personality."

"And here I was thinking it was the accent," he retorts dryly.

She looks at him appreciatingly. "It certainly didn’t hurt."

"What I find so hard to believe." Wesley muses, closing the distance between them. Cupping her cheek, he looks into her eyes, searching for something. Anything. "Is that you came all the way here, against the wishes of the Senior Partners, to tell your ex that his only redeeming feature was extra stubble."

She smiles wickedly, eyes glinting. "You forgot about the accent."

"Ah, yes. Of course, musn’t forget that."

She leans closer to him until he can feel the soft puff of her breath tickling his chin. "I came here to save you."

He traces her lips with a fingertip, trying not to let her frustrate him. Tilting her head back, he leans forward until their noses brush. "This isn’t a game, Lilah," he whispers harshly.

Her hand slides down his back, pressing him close. "No. It’s not a game. It was never just a game." She leans close to his ear. "It’s about what you want. Kiss me? Fuck me? Kill me until I never come back? Shut me away forever?"

He pulls abruptly away. "Redeem you." Saddened, he touches his mouth where she’d nearly been just moments ago. "Save you. That’s all I ever really wanted."

"And I’m here to save you."

Wesley ponders her for a moment before accepting her words. Defeated, he goes in search of his best bottle of scotch, vaguely reflecting that it’s just after 5 in the morning, but really not caring. Leaning against the wall with his drink, he nods at Lilah. "Fine. Save me. Then get the hell out."

"Why did you do it, Wes?" she asks.

"Further better and improve myself as a person. Something, I’m sure, you wouldn’t know anything about."

"And an attempt at winning Fair Winifreddy’s heart."

"Ah, yes. Because a change in facial hair is sure to elevate me in her graces." Touching his face in consideration, he continues. "I fail to see how shaving is relevant to my saving."

"It’s everything to do with it. You are *not* clean-shaven." Walking carefully towards him, she stops and rests her hand on his heart. "You have darkness in you. Delightful darkness that will, on occasion, come out. And you can’t ever pretend that you don’t."

She slides her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest. Surprising them both. she kisses him gently, waiting for him to respond. A moment passes. A moment where they nearly freeze in shock, before he deepens the kiss, threading his fingers through her hair. Greedy for more, the kiss becomes wild, both fighting for control. Teeth nip lips and tongues, their hands reach for purchase. A crash, as Wesley’s scotch tumbles to the floor, forgotten.

Wesley finds her shoulders and pushes her roughly away. Chest heaving, he rests a hand against the wall to recover. Lilah watches him serenely, seemingly unaffected by the whole ordeal. Smug, she pours a glass of his scotch. Sipping it, she continues to watch him. 

Unnerved, but unwilling to let Lilah recognize that fact, he bends down and starts gathering up the pieces of broken glass. He picks up one particularly jagged edge, cutting his thumb. "Bloody hell," he mutters, ignoring the pain and focusing on the glass. "It’s not just an act," he finally says softly. However, he is nothing but honest with himself and Lilah knows his head too well, anyway. "A rather large part of it is to impress Fred, no doubt. But at the time it seemed like the next logical step in returning to my old, yet somewhat pathetic life."

Settling down on his couch, Lilah crosses one long leg over the other and leans forward in interest. "Lilah Morgan would never have fallen for Pansy Assed Whyndem-Pryce. You are not that person. You will never be him again. Your friends will depend on you, but distrust you for the rest of their lives. And there is *nothing* you can do about it."

Wesley pauses his clean up, looks up at her. "Perhaps."

"Look," leaning back, she studies his face. "All I know is that scruffy is a part of you." she licks her lips suggestively. "A sexy part. And I wasn’t about to let it go."

He puts the broken pieces of glass back on the floor. Stands up.

Amused, Lilah takes a sip of scotch. "So the question becomes, again, what does he want? What will he do now?"

Wesley glances at the clock. 7:30. He’s never been this late to the office before. That tells him something. So he picks up the phone, calmly leaves a message with Harmony feigning a sick day. As he hangs up the phone he says, "Do the Senior Partners know you’re here, Lilah?"

"No."

"Huh." She trusts him, then. Enough, at least, to believe he’ll keep her visit secret.

"But I’m pretty much banking on the fact that you don’t actually derive any pleasure from my eternal pain and suffering."

He’s actually touched. She came all the way, under the noses of her *very* dangerous bosses, for him. In her mind, it was probably her way of telling him she cares. "You love me," he whispers, quietly.

Lilah flinches. "Not in the puppy dog, candies and flowers way, and if you *ever* get me one of those candy hearts with the sappy words on them I *will* kill you, but the part of me that still remembers how to love does. That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t pick myself over you in a heart-beat, but, yes, Wesley, I love you. Happy now?"

He suddenly wishes that his drink hadn’t shattered all over the god-damned floor. He sits down tentatively next to her… and grabs her drink. Gulping half the glass, he sets it down and wipes his mouth. Turns back to face her. Then explodes.

"Of course I’m not happy! You’re a bloody CORPSE! You can’t even be around me without SNEAKING behind the Senior Partner’s back! I have memories *beheading* you! Why the HELL couldn’t you have told me this six months ago???"

She blinks innocently at him, taking in his anger calmly. "How thick do you have to be to not notice?" she says softly, but in a deadly tone. "Wes, I was almost ready to give it all up for you. Don’t you get it? I left Lorne alive because he was a *friend* of yours. How could you not SEE that? How did you not *get* it? You asshole."

He’s momentarily stunned by her final comment. Then, doing the only thing he can, he kisses her. Hard and to the point. He pulls away long enough to say, "Shut the hell up, Lilah." before she yanks him viciously back.

They end up on the floor. It’s wild and furious. Things get broken, as they often do, and they cut an ugly swath on their way to the bedroom. But there’s still a gentle, loving undercurrent beneath the explosive heat and passion.

And Wesley suddenly realizes that though, at the beginning, it was out of loneliness, desire, and a pure psychological need for human contact, it became more. It became a relationship. And due to their own idiocy, mostly his, he reflects darkly, their relationship ended in tragedy of epic proportions. Still, though Lilah is dead, here they are again.

Two people who love each other, but love their own selves more. 

Wesley ponders this as he crawls out of bed sometime later. He must have slept without realizing it as his room is again encased in darkness. He leaves Lilah in bed and paces his tiny apartment, lost in thought. 

He pauses in front of the shattered remains of his scotch glass. Stooping down, he slowly cleans up the broken pieces of glass.

One day. One damned day. It took Lilah one day to waltz back into his life and turn everything he thought he knew upside down. 

As he dumps the pieces of glass in the kitchen garbage he wonders if it could ever have worked between them. They started on completely opposite sides, but somehow managed to meet somewhere in the middle. Find a grey area.

As he exits the kitchen, he feels it immediately. A quick check of his bedroom leaves him unsurprised. Lilah is gone. She came on a mission, executed the mission, and accomplished the mission. 

Wesley doesn’t know if hopes to see her again in the future.

As it is now, however, maybe she has saved him. He touches his chin where two days of stubble have collected.

Pondering it for a moment, he decides that a little bit of stubble is just fine with him. It helps balance out his winning personality.

FIN


End file.
